Falling To The Top
by Siff16
Summary: A story of a man. A story of ambition. A story betrayal. A story of sacrifice. A story of a hat.
1. Chapter 1

He watched them all.

There was almost never a moment when he was not aware of most everything that was going on.

He had certainly had enough time, enough experience, enough mistakes, triumphs, sadnesses, joys, disappointments, miracles...

To understand most everything.

He knew so many truths. He had to. He had a very important job.

And he was going to do the best that he could at it.

Because, what else was there? If you did not do your best at whatever you did, what was the point of even doing it?

So he was going to do his best.

It was one of the few choices he was still able to make.

...

He hadn't always been this way. Once upon a time, long long ago, he had been a young wizard bursting with excitement and ambition.

When he had gotten his letter, after all 6 of his brothers and sisters before him, he had been ecstatic.

Now he could prove to everyone, every single person who had doubted him before, just all that he could do.

...

His mother and father were happy for him. But they were not ESPECIALLY happy. How could they be when they had gone through this same experience six times before. There was only so many times an event could be repeated, no matter how important, before staleness started to creep in.

And he was resentful. His brothers and sisters hadn't been anything special. The ones who had graduated had gone on to mediocre positions and the ones still in school were keeping up mediocre grades. The only thing that was special about them was that they had gone first.

And that was so unfair.

...

No one really noticed him. Of course, he was loved, but it was an impersonal sort of love. A love that was borne out of obligation. His parents loved him, but they didnt really like him. But they didnt dislike him either. There was not time for that. When you were sandwiched in the middle, the seventh child of thirteen children, you started to become less of an individual and more of a number.

At least that was how he felt.

...

So when he got his letter he was excited. Until he realized that really, he was just about the only one.

Then he was angry.

So he vowed that this year, the year after that, and the year after that and that and that, he would prove himself.

And people wouldnt be able to help but to be excited for him. To appreciate him.

Because they wouldnt have any other choice.

...

He got his sisters old wand. He got his brothers old robes. The books he had gotten were stained, splattered with the histories of late night study sessions, of passionate flings, of days spent out on the quidditch field.

Even these books were not really his. They were part of a story in which he was only a minor character.

But that didn't mean they couldnt be useful.

He spent long hours studying over his books. Learning everything he possibly could. He figured, the more he knew, the more power he would have. If he knew more than other people, understood more than they did, they would have to come to him. They would have to recognize him for all that he was worth. And the more he learned, the more he would be able to prove that-

He was worth quite a lot.

...

Finally he got to school. His siblings had been so far, three Hufflepuffs, two Gryffindors, and a Ravenclaw. His mother was a Ravenclaw, his father a Hufflepuff.

He became the first Slytherin in the family for centuries.

And it made him happy. Because now, there was something that was his.

The first of many things to come, he felt, that would show just how special he was.

...

School was hard.

It was hard to always be on top. He had to work hard.

He never claimed to be particularly brilliant.

He wasnt stupid. He knew for sure that he wasnt stupid. But he wasnt brilliant.

Not naturally.

What he did have was a brilliant, unnatural drive.

And that was why he rose over all the rest.

He wasnt giving up on being at the top. He wouldnt.

Not without a fight.

...

And by the end of that year. After he got his marks back and found they were exceptional, he got his fight.

And it all started with a girl.


	2. Chapter 2

He needed to be on the Quidditch team.

The end of the year had passed. His marks were at the top of the class, his professors were fond of him, and he was pretty sure that he had a pretty good head start on the next years curriculum.

But it just wasnt enough.

No one was noticing yet.

His father, when he had shown him his marks, had given him a clap on the shoulder. His mother had given him a kiss on the cheek.

He wanted more.

It was one thing to get good marks, to be top of the class, but he also wanted to LEAD the class.

He couldnt be a prefect, not yet, though that would come. Then head boy later on. But that was the future.

And he was tired of waiting.

He needed something else, something better, something more.

He was going to try out for Quidditch.

And he was going to make it.

The only issue was he hated Quidditch. He thought it was a complete waste of time, people running around trying to kill each other with giant balls.

Brutes.

He always felt as if, somehow, he was above all of that.

But people liked Quidditch. People looked up to Quidditch players. It would be one step closer to achieving his abitions. To getting to where he deserved to be.

So he had to make the team, even though he was not very good at the sport.

He figured he had more than enough time. If he used it wisely, there was no reason he couldnt learn 'the sport for stupid brutes'. He had all summer.

His brother was even on one of the teams.

He had never gotten along with Kennard. They were always butting heads. Out of all of his siblings, Kennard was the one who came the closest to being a threat.

Because any competition, even from his brother, was a threat.

But it wasnt as if his brother had to necessarily know this. If he was subtle enough, sly, he was sure that he could get his brother to answer any question that might ever pop into his head.

It was one of his Slytherin strengths, and one of his brothers many Gryffindor weaknesses.

He was pretty sure he could even sneak his brothers broomstick if he was careful enough.

And so this is what he did.

He spent all summer practicing. Learning how to steady himself on a broom, learning how to dodge, duck, aim, and throw.

But he knew he wouldnt be throwing anything.

He was going to be the seeker.

What he didnt know was that the team already had a seeker, and she wasnt planning on leaving without a fight.

And so it began.


	3. Chapter 3

She had blonde hair. Golden and curly. She looked as if she came out of a doll house, her features small and chiseled.

She was beautiful. Except for one thing. Taking up a large portion of her face was a very noticeable port wine stain. It ruined her entire face, in his opinion, and for that- petty as it was- he was very happy.

He never claimed to be perfect. And any imperfection of someone elses canceled out one of his own- or at least made others look the other way.

The summer had been long, and he HAD improved as a seeker.

The seeker was the only position he cared to try out for. It was the position of glory. The only position that really mattered. It was the postion that decided the entire game- the most important.

And anything that made him more important. Made it obvious that he was the most important, was more than fine for him.

There was just one problem.

He had started back in school, ahead of the game academically of course (he hadnt used the summer to slouch as he was sure many of his other classmates had), and was ready to continue making his mark.

Tryouts began, fortunately his brother had saved up enough money to buy himself a new broom, which was convenient for him he recognized, so he had been able to claim the old broom.

But. It wasnt a nice one. Not really. It was third hand. It had been his brothers and it had been his mothers. And now it was his.

And it was pathetic. Splintery wood connected to sparse twigs of hay.

It was embarassing. He was almost too embarassed to use it.

But sacrifices had to be made. He could handle a few moments of humiliation if it was the prive he had to pay for glory.

Plus. He had a plan.

It was going to require work. Literally, work. But, his teachers liked him, and he was pretty sure that his potions professor was especially fond of him.

She was an older lady. Short and stout but with a very clear and sharp mind, but a soft and calm disposition. Madame Cottard. And he was pretty sure that, as she was aging, he could offer her a proposition.

A lot of work, for he was willing to put the work in for this, for a small monetary fee.

He would save up. Buy himself a better broom. This one was just temporary. It was needed just long enough for him to secure his position.

He was sure he was ready

...

Unfortunately for him, someone else was even more ready.

The girl with the port wine stain.

He had gotten a glance at her the first day, while they were trying out players for chasers and beaters.

He realized she was his competition.

He almost laughed at how funny he found this. Girls had just started to be allowed to even PLAY quidditch, and he was fairly sure that even that was something those who had passed the order thought was humorous. A mere technicality- one that he was sure... was very infrequently even an issue.

But apparently she was going to embarass herself.

It was a good thing really, her making a fool of herself meant that attention was taken away from his low quality broom.

He waited. He watched.

And then he watched her.

And everything changed.

Because in that moment, he realized that she was better than he was. He was going to get shown up by a girl.

Not if he could help it.

He lifted his chin, grabbed hold of his broom securely, and then flew.

And made a spectacular fool of himself.

He. Not her.

And right then he decided, as he rolled off the grass after his very clumsy over shoot.

She was going down.


End file.
